THE TRUTH WILL SET YOU FREE
by Kayryn
Summary: Spoilers for EOTM. Meadow's been attacked and now Tony's venting his frustrations to Dr. Melfi. How will she react? Will the memories of her own rape be too much for her to handle? Rated M for subject matter - rape.


The Truth Will Set You Free  
  
By: Kat Shadow Rated: R- for subject matter (rape) and profanity. Disclaimer: Not mine. HBO's. Good for them. Author's note: I know there're practically two different opinions of the Tony/Jennifer relationship. I'm not sure which one I belong to, since I both would love to see them get together but stay in a doctor/patient relationship as well. I know it's not possible to have it both ways, so I guess I'm trying to find a solution here. And as for the episode "Employee of the Month" Jennifer made the right call by not telling Tony, but it was a call I'm not sure I could've made. This is the other option. And yeah, this is highly emotional and a lot of you probably think Melfi wouldn't act this way. Well, she lost it once, granted right after the rape, but I think every person has that limit and you just never know when it's crossed. In this story, the line was crossed. Won't really mean anything to you until you read the story. If you still want to. Spoilers: oh yeah, "Employee of the month" Author's note #2: Oh yeah, this is from Jennifer Melfi's POV.  
  
"How can someone do that to a person! I mean. Meadow, she's just a kid. 19 years old for crying out loud!"  
  
Tony Soprano was venting his frustrations. And I have to say that for a man who usually comes in and sits still for an hour, he was doing a lot of moving around today. His daughter, Meadow, had been attacked the day before and it was only by pure luck and coincidence that the two people who'd passed the quiet park had heard her screams and come to see what was happening, this way preventing the attacker from finishing what he'd started. Meadow had been saved from what I hadn't. Rape.  
  
This was the one thing I've been hoping wouldn't come up in his sessions. I'm analyzed this through and through and I know that were it any other patient I wouldn't have such a hard time in dealing with it. Why? Because no one else has the power to "take care" of the problem for me. With anyone else, I'd be the one giving help and advice but with Anthony Soprano. No, this was not a safe topic.  
  
Plastering a what I thought would pass for a sympathetic look on my face, I looked at him in the eye. I could see the pain and the anger there and I felt my walls starting to crack. I was trying to figure out something neutral to say and so I said the first thing that I could think of, "I know. It's not right."  
  
If only he knew how well I knew that. Refusing to voice my thoughts, I once again reminded myself that it was a step I couldn't take, no matter how much I desired it.  
  
For a fraction of a second I saw myself walking in the garage to my car. Mentally shaking my head I repeated to myself that it was over and in the past. I needed to concentrate on the present.  
  
"You're goddamn right it ain't right!" Anthony was pacing behind his chair, gesturing wildly with his hands. "That mother fucking bastard should die for what he tried to do. Fuck they should all die!"  
  
I felt like nodding to everything he was saying, but stopped myself at the last minute.  
  
He was looking at me strangely and I wondered if I'd slipped something I shouldn't have. In view of my trail of thought during the session I wouldn't be too surprised if I had. Maybe I should just offer my apologies and ask him to leave. Yeah, right. And that wouldn't catch his attention?  
  
"Are you okay?" He came closer, still staring at me intently.  
  
"Yes, I'm fine," I lied. I felt torn between wanting him to keep talking and not having to listen what he was saying.  
  
"You sure? You look a little pale to me," he said.  
  
"Really, I'm fine. Thank you."  
  
"Your hands are shaking, you know."  
  
I looked at my hands. He was right, I was shaking. Offering him a small smile I explained, "It's nothing, probably just the lack of caffeine." I glanced at him again, and saw he wasn't really buying it, but at least he seemed to drop the subject. After a pause I prodded him. "You were talking about how you wished the man that did this to your daughter would die."  
  
I wanted Rossi to die. I still did, and it had been a few weeks since he raped me. I tried not to think about the choking sensation around my throat. Again I saw myself in the garage, but now I was being dragged backwards to the stairwell. Concentrate on what Anthony's saying, I told myself.  
  
".forcing sex on someone is cowardly. I know they say it has nothing to do with sex, but the power and the control they have over their victims."  
  
Breathe! Don't think about his words, the session will be over in another ten minutes. Just concentrate on breathing. That's it, slow and steady. In and out, in and out. He was pounding in and out of me, hurting me. oh god! Get of off me! Get off!  
  
"Get off! Stop it! No!! Stop! It! Oh god, please no!"  
  
My own voice startled me out of my nightmarish flashback. I knew I was trembling and tried to cover it by clenching by hands together. It didn't really help.  
  
Anthony was now back at my side, saying something I couldn't really decipher. I felt like he was repeating his words over and over and finally I was able to make out what it was he was trying to tell me.  
  
"Hey, what's wrong? And don't tell my it's nothin', cos what I just saw ain't nothin'," he advised me.  
  
The look on his face was probably what did it for me. He was worried, genuinely worried about me and so I found myself confessing to him that the abrasions on my knee weren't from a car accident and that actually there never was a car accident either, but it was something else entirely.  
  
I could see his expression go through several emotions as he added one and one and made two out of it.  
  
He leaned in closer to me, and placed a hand on my shoulder. For a while he didn't say anything and I was already hoping he'd leave it be, but of course I should have known better,  
  
"Did someone hurt you?"  
  
Somewhere at the back of my head I found it interesting that he chose those specific words, instead of asking up front if I'd been raped.  
  
"Hey, it's okay. I just wanna know. Did someone-"  
  
"Yes", I admitted, "someone did."  
  
That made him livid. Not the screaming or yelling or even the cursing enraged I've seen him, but he was definitely boiling inside. It was easy to see he'd figured out just what had happened, after all, I'd been very helpful only a few moments before.  
  
He returned to study my face and he did it almost meticulously. I wondered if he saw the fear bubbling just underneath the surface.  
  
After awhile he kneeled down so I didn't have to strain my neck to see him. Our positions had now completely changed, him being the one taking the lead and I was only waiting to see how he'd take it. It felt strange.  
  
"I knew it," he finally said. "I knew somethin' was wrong. Somethin' more than you were tellin' me. I felt it."  
  
I only stared at him knowing what the next questions would be. Suddenly I wanted to turn back time a few minutes and take back everything I'd just revealed to him, but it was too late.  
  
"Where is he?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"You mean you don't know who did this?"  
  
I hesitated with the answer as I knew where this was all leading to. I considered lying to him, but then I realized that he was getting to know me too well, and he'd more than likely be able to tell I wasn't telling him the truth.  
  
"Yeah, I do."  
  
I could see him mulling over the words for a moment, working out what my words exactly meant. He then faced me incredulously. "They let him GO?"  
  
"They couldn't hold him," I explained.  
  
"Why?!?" When I offered him no response, Anthony continued. "I can't believe this! Leave it to the cops to screw things up!"  
  
This time I actually nodded in agreement. Only after I'd been attacked had I really been able to understand why someone thought it was better to tale of their own business and keep the police out of it. They always seemed to have some rule they couldn't break or bend and so the guilty would walk away, leaving the victim to collect what was left of their lives and piece it all back together. And why?  
  
"So they didn't have enough evidence? Is that it?"  
  
I closed my eyes and shook my head no.  
  
"Then why?"  
  
"Technicality."  
  
"Aww, son of a bitch. Tell me his name."  
  
I'd seen this coming a mile away and had the answer ready. "Anthony, no."  
  
"Give me his fucking name."  
  
"And what would you do if I told you that?" I wanted to know.  
  
"I dunno," he said evasively. I raised my eyebrows questioningly and he looked away for a second, unable to find the answer that I'd let him get away with. "Make sure he never hurts you again," he finally said, then after a moment he added, "or anyone else."  
  
I thought about his words, maybe all he would do was castrate the son of a bitch. No, that wasn't the style in his line of business. "I can't."  
  
"Tell me his name."  
  
No  
  
"His name."  
  
"No."  
  
"His name."  
  
"No! Anthony, no!"  
  
He closed his eyes, and for a moment I thought he'd finally given up. Unfortunately his next words proved me wrong. "Jennifer, give me the name of the man who raped you!"  
  
"Jesus Rossi!!!!"  
  
When I realized I'd done, it was like the world froze over. Everything happened in slow motion. I couldn't believe I'd actually given his name to Anthony. I could feel something wet drop on the back of my hand and took me a moment to realize I was crying. I couldn't look at him in the eye, so I just buried my face in my hands and started to sob. I felt ashamed for not being able to contain myself, but the tears just wouldn't stop. Briefly I thought that I hadn't really felt this out of control since Jesus Rossi came behind me and wrapped his arms around me, telling me to shut up.  
  
The memories of those came flooding back and I cried even harder. At some point I felt myself being lifted up and then sat down again. Slowly I become conscious of the fact that Tony Soprano was in actuality, sitting in my chair, holding me in his arms, soothing me, while I cried like a child. I couldn't remember when I'd last felt so protected.  
  
Finally I was able to collect myself and I raised my head to look at him again.  
  
"So he's Italian?"  
  
"Christ! Don't you start!"  
  
Tony only raised his eyebrow, but chose to drop it.  
  
"It's okay. Don't worry 'bout him. I'm gonna take care of it."  
  
See? This is why I didn't want him to know! "Anthony. Listen to me. I don't want you to do anything. I mean it." I was trying to guess if I was actually getting through to him. After a careful consideration on his part he seemed to accept it. Mostly.  
  
"You sure?"  
  
"Yes," I said, nodding for affirmation.  
  
"If you're sure."  
  
"I am."  
  
Finally he nodded himself. "Alright then."  
  
The silence stretched long after that. Finally several minutes later Anthony started to talk about his wife and the way the was spending money. We'd been through this issue so many times I'd lost count, but I was glad because it only meant that we weren't talking about Jesus Rossi anymore.  
  
SSSSSSSSSS  
  
It was several weeks later that Jason called me at the office.  
  
"Mom, have you seen the paper today?"  
  
"No Jason," I told him. "I was in a hurry this morning, I didn't have time. Why?"  
  
"There's an article in today's paper, I think you might be interested in," he explained. For some reason I thought his voice sounded funny, but I wasn't sure how.  
  
"Well, why don't you fill me in on what was going on it the world then. I have about ten minutes before the next patient."  
  
"There's a hunger strike by inmates in Illinois, someone's questioning the attacks to Afghanistan and Hernandez apologizes to the Mets," Jason listed uninterestedly. "But it's this one that I really wanted you to hear. Are you sitting?"  
  
I sat.  
  
"A 28-year-old, American Italian man named Jesus Rossi had been missing since August 14th," Jason told me. "Rossi was last seen leaving his work at the end of his shift. He was. well they just describe what he was wearing that night and then the contact information. Mom?"  
  
"Yes, Jason. I'm here. Thanks for telling me honey."  
  
"Yeah, I just figured I'd let you know. Serves him right, whatever it is that happened t him ya know."  
  
"I. I have to go now, I think I heard the next one come to the waiting room. I'll meet you at home," I told him hurriedly.  
  
"Alright, bye."  
  
Putting down the receiver I stared in space, my heart beating fast and the feeling of disbelief washing over me. Had he really just disappeared? One of those random things that just happened in life. Or was there another alternative? Someone with a foul mouth and even more corrupted ways of doing business?  
  
My thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door and I rose from behind my desk. I cleared my head of all thoughts concerning Anthony Soprano and Jesus Rossi from my head. There was a time and place for both but this was not it. Taking in a deep breath I readied myself for the next hour and opened the door.  
  
"Hello, Mrs. Harrison. Please come in."  
  
The end 


End file.
